


The Process of Denial

by Ayngelcat



Series: "When Optimus had gone...." Elita One and the femmes on Cybertron [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst and Humor, Conflicted Emotions, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genesis Time occurrs every five thousand vorns and is a traditional hoilday, bearing some resemblance to human Christmas.</p><p>Set on Cybertron, during the 4m years that the Autobots were entombed on Earth. Elita One,  still grieving for the loss of Prime is confused by Shockwave's behaviour.</p><p>Written for tf_speedwriting Advent Calendar 2012. Prompt: "Holiday Cheer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Process of Denial

Chromia could not stop staring at the stack in the control room.

Boxes containing an amazing variety of energon treats and oilcakes sat neatly piled, along with dips, snacks and sauces. Bottles and cubes of just about every grade imaginable were there as well. Even a crate of fine Towers high grade, which Chromia knew to have been from an exceptionally premium vintage, peeped from the midst of the lavish fare.

The femme’s optics widened. _Where by the name of Primus did he ….._

A range of isotope cocktails completed the display, together with special Genesis Time firecrackers, streamers and candles. There were other ‘presents’ too – plates and utensils and ornate glasses and decanters.

But Chromia’s gaze went back to the unavoidable feature, what evidently was the _piece de resistance_ \- a delicate crystal in the shape of a Delta Pavonian flower.

Next to it was a datapad on which was scribed in old Cybertronian longhand:

_To Elita and Femmes,_

_Wishing you a pleasant Genesis Time Celebration._

_Have yourselves a good rest and some holiday cheer. You are worthy of the same._

_Your admirer always,_

_~~ S ~~_

The ‘S’ was fancily drawn. Next to it was a Decepticon insignia fringed with delicate gold etchings.

_Well well Shockwave. I gotta hand it to ya. You’re nothin’ if not full of surprises …._

Chromia suddenly could not suppress a smirk. She imagined the huge Decepticon solemnly putting this lot together, dishing out orders to his drones in the gloom of the Decepticon base.  The thought of _him_ having any ‘cheer’, Genesis Day or no Genesis day, was beyond imagination.

_Maybe part of his motive was to get rid of this stuff?_

But no – Chromia knew better. He really was trying hard. Appealing to all the femmes and not just the object of his desires was quite the novel move.

Chromia well knew, however, what Elita was going to say when she saw this.

Nevertheless, the battlefemme’s mouth watered as she took stock of the stash again. Her processing chamber rumbled in anticipation. It had been so long since any of them had even seen a spread like this. Why - she'd almost forgotten how decent high grade tasted.

 Yes – Chromia knew exactly what _she_ intended saying to Elita.

……………

Elita, as predicted, went off her face.

“To think he would entertain the idea that he can win me over with this!” she yelled.  “If he thinks a few goodies, a few _trinkets_ are going to win my cooperation, is going to lead us closer to an alliance, he can have another think coming!”

“And to think that he must know so well the grief I feel at Genesis Time in the absence of my beloved Optimus,” she raged on. Smouldering, she turned on Chromia, “I question that you even allowed whatever moronic drone he had in his service to deliver it!”

Chromia was forced to explain that she had arrived to find the goods already here.

At which Elita’s face lost its delicate pink hues. “Then I have that to thank him for at least. Thank you Shockwave for such an awesome demonstration of the _ineptitude_ of our security systems! _How could this happen?”_

Elita’s anger was hardly unexpected. And this was, of course, extremely serious. Yet Chromia struggled again to keep a straight face. “Y’know Shockwave,” she said. “He’s - determined. Look – ‘lita – I think if he was gonna attack us he woulda done it by now …”

“I want the problem fixed at once, Chromia!” The Autobot’ leader’s face was a picture of outrage. “And I want all this …” she waved her hand over the stacked goods, “returned. _I will not be beholden to him!”_

She seemed to calm a little, so Chromia seized the opportunity. “’Lita,”  she said gently, “I know you’re mad n’all, but I really do think you oughtta consider the situation. Our femmes are starving. For the last few hundred vorns we ain’t even hardly had enough fuel to stay operational, let alone celebrate Genesis Time. Morale’s at an all time low. Perhaps they should have this chance?”

Elita opened her mouth to protest again. Then closed it. Chromia knew she could see the wisdom in the suggestion, felt deeply for her femmes and had barely held together herself at their suffering. But she had a stubborn streak. And she was not giving in.

“All the more reason! I would not wish upon _them_ the indignity of thinking they owe that pitspawn any favours!”

Chromia wasn't giving up either. “Look, just think about it  – that’s all I ask,” she said. “Would they really believe that?” She sighed. “This ain’t the golden age, ‘Lita. It ain’t a time for mutual obligation and social niceties. Resources hit rock bottom. This arrives –“ she gestured to the pile. “If y’ask me, it’s just what we need.”

Elita scowled. “Primus only knows where he _got_ this stuff …” But she had softened a little. Chromia could tell.

“I know …” Chromia touched her arm. “But I say we take it and enjoy. _And_  – we fix up our security. To the pit with any expectations he might have.” She squinted at her leader. “You’re right – he probably thinks you’ll go soft. If you want him to suffer - I reckon you prove him wrong. Take what he gives, and then ignore the slagger.”

Elita was silent. An unreadable look came over her. Chromia stood back and folded her arms, watching, not knowing - or even wanting to guess -  Elita’s thoughts. _Here we go_ , she thought. It would not be the first time, since it became obvious that Prime wasn’t coming back, that she had watched Elita struggle with utterly confused emotions where this Decepticon was concerned.

Elita shot the pile a 'look.' Bending over, she snatched up the crystal flower. “I always wanted one of these,” she growled, regarding the delicate form. “The finest in Delta Pavonian sculpture. I hinted enough times to Optimus that I would treasure one. But he never …”

Closing her optics, Elita turned away. It was not just the flower.  Elita could not have failed to note how tailored all the fare was to her intimate likings. Her favourite vintage energon. The treats she always served at parties. Even candies and treats to which Elita was particularly partial but had rarely consumed in the past owing to Optimus’ dislike of the same, or his allergies.

She thought of Shockwave assembling the gifts, his intelligent mind assessing her likely appreciation in painstaking detail. That another could be so sensitive, so understanding of her needs! It filled Elita with a warm glow, a need for meaningful conversation over excellent energon....

A longing to be nurtured, to end the long years without Optimus. To move on....

It wasn’t that she felt obliged to repay Shockwave. She _wanted_ to repay him, to tell him it meant something. Not make him suffer for his pains – whatever he might be, or have done in the past.

But the dark void, the emptiness that yawned at that very thought was equally, terrifyingly, consuming. To allow such thoughts was to deny that Optimus would not return....

And, in the darkness, there stalked an even worse spectre: the sickening suggestion that  her life with Optimus had been a lie, that there was nothing more to their relationship than a functional arrangement, a political alliance, and - worse -  a  mere means for the needs of the Prime to be satiated.

And he had crushed her needs as easily as she could crush the flower she held in her hand. Like a good Alpha, Elita had done her duty. Done it before he had left her.

Elita’s hand tightened around the flower. But no! It could not be. She loved Optimus. Secure, dutiful Optimus. He had chosen her. He was self absorbed, insensitive and even condescending at times - but he loved her. And, he would return.

The crystal in her hand was warm, delicate. She could crush it so easily. Yes - she _should_ crush it; into at least a million pieces. Then she should send it back, unmitigated proof of the contempt she held for its sender.

But the flower remained in her palm, uncrushed, her fingers tracing the finely crafted edges. It was altogether too splendid a piece of art to suffer such a fate.

Elita became aware of Chromia watching her curiously. She snapped back to reality. Primus forbid that Chromia should know of the nonsense in her mind! Chromia was, however, right about the femmes.  

Chromia raised an optic ridge. “Well?”

Elita made her decision. “Very well,” she said. “You may tell the others to get ready for some cheer, as our _benefactor_ suggests – when the security is fixed.” She managed a smile. “I will give him this much - we do deserve it.”

“YESS!” Chromia could not help herself. But nor could she hide the amusement that again threatened to send her into spasms.  Elita took an _awfully_ long time to decide that.

“Y’know, if you feel that bad we could always send him somethin’ back. A canon, perhaps? He might appreciate that?” she ventured, unable to contain herself.

Elita darkened instantly.  She put the crystal sculpture firmly back on the box. “I don’t care what you tell the others, but they will not know of the origin of this haul!” she snapped. “Now get it out of here, and Chromia …”

“’Lita?”

“If his name is mentioned at all, I shall change my mind!”


End file.
